Best Laurel Wreath Poems
Through frayed seams a rosy dream bleeds
needled and re-stitched
with threads of time and love and hope..
and still — a rosy dream bleeds
the miscarriage of a promised rose garden
leaving me bereft but for entwined bands of gold –
contemplative thorns tempt my angst
moony moody barbs bristle twigs of tenderness
sigh— it’s not a laurel wreath worn atop my brow
as I sit alone with a squeamish friend
my blue-sky-to-storm-cloud introspection —
as your distant eyes deserted mine long ago
Winter's beast laid bare a cerebral graveyard
lost you wander amongst laid-to-rest neurons
worn headstones of thoughts and laughter and memories…
you wonder why they hide — why they died
the crackle of cognitive circuitry quiets
branched-lightning fades from unwitting clouds
and aged roots of reality perish
our red rose finished fallen to pieces
you-and-me-petals a messy heap like old potpourri —
yet in dark’s hush love’s scent lingers on our dream pillow
Oh nostalgic sepals embrace me!
my heart yearns to return to the bud
to the fullness of our June bloom —
instead, I bury desires beneath life’s litterfall;
amid pollenless stamens and leaves of one-sided reveries
and cage my fear my despair behind purple thistle facing the light
as I free a smile for you, my love —
you my sun that still parts the rain-bearing nimbus
We hang on hints or clues to see what's to come next;
I'll cite examples as proofs from a well-known text.
He that crawls in fours when rooster gleefully calls,
Walks in twos like the blazing sun, but soon he falls;
Here's a hint, clue or foreshadowing to foresee
His fall from a life's precipice … and it's a key.
One comes in, blooming and wearing a laurel wreath,
And this bubbling signal, we know, should stop him breathe;
He fights a fierce fight at a place, where three roads meet;
And so soon, we raise the blanket and hear ... three tweet.
A man comes with no eyesight to solve the riddle,
And predicts that sinner stands boldly, right middle,
And he that mocks him for his ill-fated eyesight,
Would leave the city ... groping wearily ... at night.
At last, that man with the clearest eyesight we see
Leave the stage and us in threes as a beaten bee.
12 syllables in each line
A 1st Place in the following contest (judged on Feb. 10, 2021)
Feb.9, 2021 (Originally posted on Nov. 25, 2020)
The Gem That Slipped Through The Cracks Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
A 2nd Place in the following contest (judged on Jan. 8, 2021)
Podium Placing Promise (5)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
"Wedding of a Wench"
a joyous celebration promised arrived on lacy invitation
bring only your smile as a gift to offer congratulations
but my cousin, Marlene, was known as a troublemaker all her life
now so hard to imagine she'd make any man a good wife.
more out of curiosity my honey and I opted to go
after many years of disfunction change makes people grow
nothing could have prepared me for the show 'twas 'bout to see
there is a lid for every pot and fun is always free.
the rough flight to Las Vegas was bumpy and too long
spent all my time with eyes closed tight chanting the wedding song
as the plane landed I tried to unclench my fist
wondering which magic potion she used to snare a sharp dentist.
the trip to the chapel 'neath bright lights of Sin City
my high heels hurt my toes as I thought of words witty
recognized Uncles and Aunts who had now grown old
though the temps reached 100 my body froze cold.
we exchanged hugs and kisses then escorted to our bench
waiting for sweet music and entrance of wicked wench
she wore a red suit with her flaming red hair
with white shoes, blouse and hat looked like Santa Claus affair.
the groom, short and bald, wore a green laurel wreath
to cover his head with red tie underneath
his bermuda shorts were all plaid and too big
where oh where was the champagne, I needed a swig.
instead of gold rings they had tattooed pop art
with matching leg logos "till death do us part"
I was laughing so loud I thought I would die
waved a speedy hello and a hasty goodbye.
now what does one say to a couple's freak show?
no words came to mind that seemed quite apropos
I just gave them my business card once they were sober
as a wedding gift come see me for a duo cousin makeover.
*For Joann Grisetti's My Cousin's Wedding Contest.
Success or Failure’s Failure
Was it success or failure’s failure,
The will to win or a refusal to lose.
No guts, no glory!! – no pain, no gain!!
He stayed the course – unnoticed,
walked early through the cold mist,
prayed to a heartless, distant god,
answered the call every morning
to rise, to stiffen his back, move forward
toward another fading sunset.
No crowds lined dawn’s damp streets,
his only applause the sound of
windblown debris clattering on concrete,
no ribbons rewarded his perseverance,
his laurel wreath a sweat-stained pillow,
his trophy case a mantel of children’s pictures.
It took guts to amass such gains
the sweet touch of love’s regeneration
the continuum of living family,
the footsteps of a life – following
a distant shadow at dawn.
Is it success – or failure’s failure?
John G. Lawless
7/5/2015
May I help you sir, she said to me, as I walked in the door.
I hung my head, embarrass red, What was I in here for?
Did You remember paper towels? NO, as I head off to the store.
The Red Sox Won, the Red Sox Won, Curt Shilling was the star.
My radio is calling me to the Post-Game Show: If I Could Find My Car.
I can’t remember: Did I park in LOT Yellow ABC, or was it Purple PQR.
Soft Sweet Voice, made my Heart Rejoice; I can’t think of Her name.
My memory : waning years: reflections, recollections of YOUR Fame.
An earned Laurel Wreath is given YOU in the POETRY Olympic Game.
Inspired and Dedicated to "Sue Mason".. By whathisname
I will pave the farthest road,
see my likeness known in marble and gold.
Is it power, is it greatness I pursue?
Yes, it's destined, it makes sense,
that I should come to prominence,
Oh, world, Caesar comes for you!
I will not fade, spread across Pompey's gates,
what would Cicero know of what is great?
I can say,
alea iacta est, Rome will see her day.
Damn winter, autumn, by spring,
you'll see city columns rising.
And the aquaducts will flood with the blood,
of any still defying!
May the Gods stand behind my scabbard,
may the Gauls all scuttle and scatter.
I'll not retreat, or sit on my laurel wreath,
alea iacta est!
A thousand legions strong,
scouting regions far beyond,
marching on,
alea iacta est, Rome will see her day.
A thousand legions strong,
from Athena's Parthenon,
marching on,
alea iacta est, Rome will see her day.
I shall go, I shall see, I shall conquer,
I am servent to this life no longer.
Let the world heed these words,
and be ready to feature,
Gaius Julius Caesar!
Yes,
The die is cast,
It's mine, this at last,
alea iacta est,
Rome, will, see, her, day!
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/roman-reign
https://youtu.be/Z1hAGvzB8Nk
The prominent years, of which did last
Great heights of power, of centuries past
According to legend, thy Rome we build
Twin brothers afore, o’ Remus killed
O’ city of Rome, of which we name
A land of power, government, fame
A laurel wreath, for emperors made
Make way Augustine, we shall invade
Proud legions stand, march with thy sword
Set up camp, in one accord
Hilltops on high, settlement surround
Excavated objects found
We bind the law, of which was spoke
Of magistrates power, enforce, evoke
Writings carved, upon thy stone
Papyrus, bronze, of Latin alone
Villas remain, a courtyard near
Mosaic art, yet to revere
Myths and legends, they chose per se
God and goddess, a role to play
The Colosseum, the serious wars
O’ re-enact at theatre doors
Horses trotting, yet at a pace
The circus held, thy chariot race
Lend a penny, now let us bath
Thy mineral water, water wave
As strigils scrape, upon thy skin
With lavish oil, thy slave rub-in
A solid cause, bring to effect
Our empire built, we shall protect
Provinces, lands, we captured all
Stood to defend, afore thy fall
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Brutus Iulius Trois Page 05
Loud laughed Pandrasus Hear the mice roar
yet stubborn Pandrasus swiftly gave chase
over the high mountain, through the deep forest
so easily he fell to the trap Brutus had laid
on Achelous's banks Brutus did ambush the king
Brutus standing tall looked down at Pandrasus
Pandrasus said Brutus Irony is fates game
Greek oppression rebuilt my nation
in truth you Pandrasus built my wooden horse
Metrophanes , a grandchild of great Priam
by Imbrius's widow, the captive Medesicaste
Crowned Brutus with a Laurel wreath
shouting in Greek, Hail Brutus the new Pandrasus
repeating in the Trojan tongue -hail The new Pendragon
Long may he rule over all of Chaonia
Brutus pulled off the wreath, not even by conquest is this land mine.
Greek soil is too bitter to nurture Trojan Roots
I would wash even my sandals in the sea and return to Troy
No shouted Linus one of the half blooded
I speak now for many men present
full blood, half blood we all bled for you
Our families were Trojans but Troy is no more.
Brutus! we have avenged the Trojan shame
Brutus! our wives, our children are Greek
we are not Argonauts to sail after adventure
we are not Trojans who fled from defeat
we are like the great warrior Ulysses
reluctant to leave home even for war
but stout fighters all and we are the victors
Brutus! we are Trojans only in name.
Assaracus grandson of Helenus crossed to the fore
Linus I led these enslaved sons before your birth
I gave Brutus the sword which cut our bonds
for brave Linus I also feared to use it.
My mother was Trojan My father Greek
I loved both must I choose between them?
Brutus the Trojan, Linus the Greek must I choose?
We are as a new nation, a new people
the old Phoenix dies as the new Phoenix soars
above the flames of its fathers funeral pyre
Aeneas, Ulysses, now Brutus were exiles
let our new people follow the new Pendragon home.
A troubadour came by my house;
beneath my window he did sing.
I had never heard such melody
or listened to like lyrics ring.
He sang a song I understood,
a song of love for me alone;
and , gazing through the latticed frame,
I knew that I would be his own.
The haunting strains, they wound their way,
even before I could resist,
my heart was bound by cords of love;
forever to his song I would list.
"I long to follow you." I cried,
"fair, wandering minstrel, gay and free;
I want to be your gypsy bride
and sing sweet songs of love with thee."
He bade me follow with a look--
a look my tongue cannot describe--
so tender that my heart leaped up.
"I will follow you! Oh, yes!" I cried.
And then I saw, just as I turned
to go with love forevermore,
what I had thought a laurel wreath
was but a crown of thorns he wore.
The robe which from his shoulders hung--
it had seemed spotless, white as snow;
but, then I saw it stained with blood.
yet, still with him I longed to go.
His feet and hands were bruised and torn;
"oh, who had wounded one so good!"
Just then I saw the lute he played
was but a rugged cross of wood.
"Oh, Love!" I cried, "dear, fairest one,
who dared to harm and hurt you so!"
and then I heard the song again...
"It was for you; did you not know?"
"For me? I do not understand;
for just today I heard your song."
He turned to speak what now I know.
"My love," he said, "I called you long."
We sing the song together now;
each day is but a new refrain.
Yet, still I marvel when I hear
a note of joy wrung out of pain.
I did not know when first I heard
his music calling to my heart
that love is not triumphant
till wounded, pierced and torn apart.
Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson
Oh Lord my God. I love you with an everlasting love.
Each of your ways is perfect and in you there is no
shadow of turning. I love you for first loving me and
sending Jesus to die for my sins. My heart is melted by
your goodness toward me. If I sin and ask forgiveness, you
give inner assurance that you've heard. You make my path
straight and it is well with my soul. How strong are
your arms that uphold me from evil and malicious people.
You've placed me upon a pedestal. I endure their evil
intent and continue to go forward from victory unto victory.
Every blessing I have is from you. My wife and family are
like a laurel wreath placed by you upon my head. All that I
have comes from you. How excellent is your name forever
on earth as it is in heaven.
A name means nothing
on the battlefield.
"Julius Caesar"
Test of conscience:
tainted with guilt
— behind woven brocade
luxury silk ties.
Public praise,
laurel wreath.
Ridiculous reasoning.
Merge urge with surge to hurl short fest,
Invite the heart to feel quest spark;
Charm moves sad dirge in spellbound jazz,
Reprise old art to forge new mark;
Obscure yet grand that laurel wreath.
Taste thought unique in sharp outbursts,
Attain dear friend where impulse breathes;
Leap with technique high pulse and thirst,
Expose the strains in sheer delight.
See sense contrast in vibrant feel,
Wear sweet refrain in crystal light;
Ink unveils thrust as poignant will,
Rich devotion spreads art in flesh,
Laughs shape passion in mystic dash.
Leon Enriquez
14 July 2015
Singapore
Journey you take as hero must,
One mindset starts for the true heart;
Story you make in a fine trust,
Explore bold art in fabled parts;
Prized tale and spell: follow your bliss,
Heed sacred code as hero can.
Choice helps you dwell on journey's gist,
Apply brave mode to live your plan;
Meet each stage cast that challenge way,
People you meet can bring conflict;
Best to outlast, outwit, outplay,
Enter harsh streets where fighting peaks;
Live zealous quest for laurel wreath,
Love sparks the best in monomyth.
Leon Enriquez
02 May 2015
Singapore
When the battle is won, 'tis the general who claims the laurel wreath.
Seldom is lavish praise bestowed upon the lowly ranks beneath.
But it's the valiant fellow in the trenches with his bayonet and gun,
Who bears the brutal brunt of battle to see the victory won!
In all the countless conflicts since biblical time began,
'Tis the lieutenants and sergeants who execute the battle plan.
Generals concoct grandiose schemes from the comfort of a bunker,
While the fellow in the trenches from bomb and shell must hunker!
His home is a burrow in the ground, dug to comply with regulations.
There he tries to sleep, keep socks dry and eat his meager rations.
His helmet becomes a lavatory to brush his teeth and shave.
It also serves as a dandy tub for taking and occasional lave!
He foregoes the "comfort" of home now and then to take a stroll,
Trudging thro' mud, sleet and snow on a hazardous night patrol,
Gingerly plodding thro' fields of mines, adding tension to his woe.
Returning to his barren hole, how he pines for a steaming cup o' joe!
There's no relief from the constant din of battle or the cannons' roar.
He knows all too well the horrible gore and agony of war.
It takes cooks, artillerymen, "tankies" and all to see the victory won,
But it's the courageous fellow in the trenches who really "gits 'er done".
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Today, we're watching America fall, just as Rome fell.
Democrats and Republicans have marched us straight into hell.
And just as Jesus, in predicting the End Times, did say ~
this will all happen before the current generation passes away.
As nations rise against nations, and America squanders its laurel wreath,
there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth.